


Memories of a Message Board

by AU_Ruler



Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon 1991), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: '17 Drake, Again, Dramatics, Enemies to Lovers, Established Relationship, Flashbacks, Gen, Humour, In a way, but one-sided, i blame discord, inner monologues, lowkey drakepad, ranting, the drakepad isn't the focus they're just dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24650224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AU_Ruler/pseuds/AU_Ruler
Summary: While the fan-signing was Drake and Launchpad's first official meeting, it wasn't their first.
Relationships: Drake Mallard/Launchpad McQuack
Comments: 14
Kudos: 90





	Memories of a Message Board

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired in part by art from drearyfell on Instagram and Twitter! Included at the end

Knuckles pop. It’s an old habit, one for buying time as Drake thought. The words just weren’t coming to him. He shook his hands out, thread them under his chin. Stared at the other person’s response. Four years ago, his hesitance would’ve been born from wanting to write Darkwing correctly. Now it was the worry that he’d write him _too_ well. Just the idea of someone figuring out who he was because of this had him worrying his bottom bill between his teeth. That didn’t make him stop, though. The dance between responder and respondee as they wrote a story together was much too enjoyable. Even with the outliers that happen every so often. People you feel don’t do the characters justice or who just have the absolute _worst_ grammar.

“Whatcha doin’?” Hands landed on Drake’s shoulders and he jumped, moving to punch the person behind him. His fist connected with another hand. One that gently threaded their fingers together. Launchpad. Even after a year of living in the same space, he was still amazed how quiet the larger duck could be.

Launchpad looked past him. The website was still there, white words accusing against the dark background. His hand shot out to slam the laptop closed. But Launchpad was already in the way. Innocently staring at the words on screen. They weren’t anything bad. Nothing to be ashamed of, Drake reminded himself. That didn’t exactly help. How was he supposed to explain to his amazing boyfriend that he’d been a member of this roleplay group for the old Darkwing Duck cartoon for literal _years_? It was so embarrassing. Launchpad would probably leave him for it or something. He’d lose the best boyfriend he’d ever had because of a few words on a screen. Heat pooled powerfully in his cheeks. Slowly he sank down in his chair. Maybe if he wished it hard enough he’d sink right into the floor. Be a part of the woodwork for the rest of his life. Becoming Darkwing was kind of like coming out of the woodwork. Maybe it’d take him back. Just… a lot more literally.

Then Launchpad, perfect, beautiful Launchpad, spoke before he could spin too far down. “Oh, hey! I have an account here!” Before Drake could do anything Launchpad was scrolling down, presumably to find his username. “There I am!”

Drake sat back up to see where his finger was. It sat against the screen. A singular name above his fingernail. ‘quackercrash’. The name jivved with him, but the icon struck more. It was a rudimentary picture of the Thunderquack, edited to have fire and stars behind it. Slowly, Drake looked at the duck hovering over him. That was a name and icon he’d ranted at many a time. Words hitting the screen. Never penetrating, he didn’t want to spread anger on the server. Didn’t want to use his written word to rant at a stranger. His own monologues translated far better out loud, anyway. So instead he’d bring the stranger’s profile up and rant at his screen. Let the words flow as he paced the tiny apartment room.

~~~~

This was it. The final straw. Drake raked a hand through his hair, pulling at the strands. He rp’d purely for fun. It was a good way to unwind after a long day of stunts. Something he could do even when his whole body felt less like flesh and more like a singular, pulsing bruise. But then there were _those_ people. People who annoyed him to no end. Who were the absolute _worst_ , the scum of the server. People like quackercrash.

He'd drawn Drake in with a cool premise. A Darkwing-and-Quackerjack team up. Something that could be short, or could spiral wildly out of control. Most things he did tended on the later. It was just that he loved rping with Darkwing. The superhero monologues worked well with his own rambling nature and he adored the dramatics. His rps were full of sprawling paragraphs, colourful imagery, thoughtful references. It was his art. Just as much as acting was.

That’s why quackercrash was his worst enemy. The icon of the Thunderquack stared at him and he glared angrily back at it. What was with this guy? Where did he get off on responding to his multi-paragraph prose with two sentences? Two _measly_ , _inconsequential_ sentences. He’d given him plenty to work off of! Ten whole paragraphs of stuff. And he did it constantly. Drake’s sure not a single of their responses was more than five sentences. Not to mention the _grammar_ . They may not have been doing this professionally but there were still expectations. A certain level of professionalism to maintain. Drake had needs and those needs were good grammar and proper punctuation. Also an _actual response_. None of which this accursed quackercrash seemed capable of.

But it was too late for him! The premise was good. Made better when the stranger suggested a vague romance plot. Darkwing and Quackerjack, enemies brought together by a common goal. Only to slowly develop feelings for each other throughout the case. At the end of it all their different sides would likely cause everything to fall apart. Yes, he was stuck. He was stuck on the plot, on the idea of it all. So he had to stay until the rp was completed. Until the story had been written. Drake growled, looked back at the profile displayed for the world to see. He let out a silent scream. “How could you do this to me?” An accusatory finger was pointed in his laptop’s direction. “You- you _fiend_. You villain.” The word was hissed out with vehemence.

Finally it became too much for him. He collapsed on the floor. The knees hit first, then he lied back with his arm thrown over his eyes. “Rage, rage against the dying of the light,” Drake quoted bitterly. Usually it made him feel better. Right now, it didn’t. Right now he had a response to think about. So he grimaced and picked himself back up. Sat at the keyboard and popped his knuckles.

~~~~

“I remembered there was some really cool Darkwing who wrote like fifty paragraphs,” Launchpad said. “We had one rp together. But he never talked to me after that. Wonder what happened to that.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Hope he’s good.”

“It was **_you_ ** ?!” Drake asked, mortified. Enraged. How could this loveable oaf, the most beautiful person in the world, be _that_ person. That awful, unforgivable quackercrash. Launchpad, standing right behind his chair. The very same person. 

There were a few seconds of silence. Drake glared up at his boyfriend the whole way through. It felt like minutes. But then Launchpad gave him a goofy grin, an eyebrow quirked. “What was me?”

Something in Drake’s brain suddenly snapped. He leapt at Launchpad with a guttural cry.

**Author's Note:**

> And then Drake murders Launchpad.


End file.
